


Arsenic

by FeelingFredly



Category: Bleach
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:46:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21884128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeelingFredly/pseuds/FeelingFredly
Summary: He was poison and he'd accepted that fact.  Now if only everybody else would.
Relationships: Kurosaki Ichigo/Urahara Kisuke
Comments: 8
Kudos: 222
Collections: UraIchi Prompt Challenge #4





	Arsenic

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a much darker fic, so for anyone hoping for that level of angst I'm sorry to disappoint, I just couldn't make my Kisuke suffer that much. :shrug: Otherwise, I think I hit most of the fluff and light angst highlights. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> As you're reading, each heading is for a different form of arsenic which has, throughout history, had different applications and I've attached links below in case you'd like to look a little deeper into the connections I was making.
> 
> First--Hiso (砒素) is Japanese for white arsenic.
> 
> Fly Paper: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flypaper "...The poisons used in some older types of flypaper could potentially be toxic to humans and other animals. Historically, metallic arsenic (a well-known toxin to humans) was used in flypaper.[2] Arsenic extracted by soaking flypaper in water has been used by several convicted murderers, among them Frederick Seddon and Florence Maybrick."
> 
> Ratsbane: https://www.thefreedictionary.com/ratsbane "Noun 1. ratsbane - a white powdered poisonous trioxide of arsenic used in manufacturing glass and as a pesticide (rat poison) and weed killer"
> 
> Realgar: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Realgar "... The Chinese name for realgar is xionghuang 雄黃, literally 'masculine yellow', as opposed to orpiment which was 'feminine yellow'. Its toxicity was also well known to them, and it was sprinkled around houses to repel snakes and insects, as well as being used in Chinese medicine.[9] Realgar is mixed with rice liquor to make realgar wine, which is consumed during the Dragon Boat Festival in order to ward off evil, alluding to its repellent properties. (This practice has become rarer in modern times, with the awareness that realgar is a toxic arsenic compound.)"
> 
> Paris Green: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris_green "a green pigment it is also known as Schweinfurt green, emerald green or Vienna green. It is a highly toxic emerald-green crystalline powder[3] that has been used as a rodenticide and insecticide,[4] and also as a pigment, despite its toxicity. It is also used as a blue colorant for fireworks.[5] The color of Paris green is said to range from a pale blue green when very finely ground, to a deeper green when coarsely ground."
> 
> And on with the show!

**Bingo Square #20: Arsenic**

The late afternoon sun fell at a long angle through the windows of the summer house and lit a pile of papers.

“Hiso?” Yoruichi arched an eyebrow at him as she filled out the final lines of the form. “You couldn’t think of anything more dramatic?”

Kisuke looked across the table at her, his long legs crossed at the ankle beneath his suneate, the black brim of his jingasa casting a shadow over his face, the perfect imitation of an Ashigaru samurai foot soldier. “Of course, you couldn’t.”

He laughed quietly at her long-suffering expression. “I am only thankful that the Second allows me to choose. I cannot imagine what I would be called if your uncle were naming me.”

Yoruichi snorted. “You would be lucky not to be called Worm. It is his favorite address for you still, isn’t it?”

Kisuke nodded. “Yes. My last visit to the manor was much the same as my first. At least he is consistent.”

A few more papers were shuffled and finally Yoruichi pushed back from the table. “Alright… it is done. All I have to do now is file it. At that point you will be moved into the barracks for the Patrol Corps.” She looked at him, eyes serious. “Are you sure this is what you want? I won’t…” she paused, and then stopped. “Kisuke, are you _sure_?”

He paused for a moment, giving his friend’s question the attention it deserved. The Onmitsukidō had been his fate since he was first brought to Shihōin Palace and given to the woman across from him as a companion. He had trained with her and surpassed her in everything but name. They’d been inseparable for a hundred years, but he knew that his presence in the Executive Militia was doing her no favors. There were whispers that his skills couldn’t be what they were reported as—no one under a hundred could do the things he was reported doing—he must simply be her pet, and she was lying to protect him. It wasn’t enough that they accused her of playing favorites (which she did, honestly) but worse, they belittled her ability to lead because he was always there as her first follower. Yes, he was useful—poisons always were—but the longer he stayed close, the more damage it was going to do to her in the long term. It would eventually push her into a corner where she’d have to fight to defend them both, and that… was unacceptable. The Patrol Corps would allow—no, _require_ —him to become invisible. After that, forgetting the _upstart Shihōin sidekick_ would simply be a matter of time. Even if it meant losing constant contact with his friend, the benefits to her would be worth it.

“Yes, Yoruichi,” he said, hiding back under the edge of his hat. “I’m sure.”

**Fly Paper**

Kisuke pulled his robes closer, hoping the drape of the material hid the short dagger at his back, and turned to face the furious woman behind him.

“You snake,” she hissed the insult at him, “how dare you show your face in these halls. I will have your head on a pike.”

Kisuke rolled a shoulder, the epitome of languid apathy. “I cannot imagine what you are on about, Kawakami-san. Calm yourself. You know how much your husband values your grace and tranquility.”

She hissed again, moving forward like a stalking cat. “What care I for his _value_ , when he brings a poison like you into his house— _into his bed_ —and leaves me to face the gossipmongers.”

Kisuke dropped his chin and canted his head to one side, slanting a look at the woman. She was small but he knew she was vicious. She had killed three suitors before marrying poor Kawakami-sama for his position as an advisor to the Kuchikis. The Onmitsukidō had sent him to infiltrate the house and he had. A fluttering touch and warm glance were all it took to lure the man away from his beloved wife and into the relative safety of Kisuke's arms.

She had not accepted it gracefully.

Kisuke sighed. It wasn’t his fault that the woman was a cold fish as well as a cold-blooded killer. He was proof that one did not guarantee the other. If she’d continued to feed her husband the sweet lies and kisses she’d caught him with, Kisuke’s job would have been much more difficult. As it was, a few sweet nothings were enough to turn the dignitary’s head.

“The gossipmongers are the least of your worries, Kawakami-san.” Kisuke shook his head at her. “Did you really think that you would get away with it? Three men of strong spirit energy, cut down mysteriously? Central 46 is not as blind as all that.”

The tiny woman bared her teeth in a horrible facsimile of a smile. “I knew you were an Onmi bitch. You stank of it. At least when I killed those men I did it for myself. You’re nothing but Central 46’s lackey. A slave to do their bidding.”

The admission was all Kisuke needed. He drew the short sword from his back sheath and pinned the woman to the wall with it where she keened and cursed, wriggling like an insect on a pin.

The noise summoned the whole household, from servant to master, and they stood blocking the halls as the former mistress of the house alternated between begging for mercy and spitting hateful admissions of her guilt. She soon exhausted herself, and Kisuke pulled the blade from her torso, binding her hands as he simultaneously cast a healing kidō to keep her from bleeding out. She would not die here. The Onmitsukidō preferred to keep its penance private.

“It was all a lie, then.” Kawakami Sukehisa had lost the stiff-necked posture that marked his position. He looked beaten, his face pale and drawn, and Kisuke couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for any pain his deception had caused. Sukehisa-kun had treated him well—better than anyone in a long time—but this wasn’t about him. He was simply a tool for the Onmitsukido like the witch said. Fly-paper to catch and kill the household pests. Close proximity was never healthy.

“She would have killed you, Kawakami-sama,” he said, and the other man nodded absently before looking at Kisuke sadly.

“I knew she didn’t care for me, but she was beautiful and I hoped…” he gave a hollow laugh as he stared at Kisuke. “Apparently I have a weakness for deadly beauties.”

Kisuke didn’t argue.

**Ratsbane**

“I’m not asking you, Kisuke,” Yoruichi stared at him, her eyes steely, “I’m telling you.”

They’d been at it for two hours and the conversation had devolved from, well, a _conversation_ , to a Shihōin Princess’s edict.

“I beg your pardon, Shihōin-sama,” he bowed too deeply. “I didn’t realize. Please forgive this one’s misguided attempt to control his own life.”

The groan of frustration ripped from her was almost worth the price he knew he was going to have to pay for his attitude. Regardless of their history, Yoruichi was the head of a noble house, the Captain of the Second, _and_ the Commander-in-Chief of the Onmitsukidō.

“It isn’t like that, Kisuke.” She flung herself across the low chair, the only furniture in the room, and glared at him, the steel from earlier melting into something a little more malleable. “Well, _it is_ , but it isn’t.”

Kisuke allowed his stance to loosen a little now that it was clear that it wasn’t going to devolve further into hand to hand combat. “If it isn’t, then what is it?”

He watched the wheels turn behind Yoruichi’s eyes. His childhood friend was almost gone, and in her place was this person, somehow both the same and yet very different. It was good to see that his decision so long ago had allowed her to secure her position and become this new, more dangerous version of herself. It was also hard to swallow.

“There’s no denying that your talents are useful to the Patrol Corps. In fact, their mission success rate has increased dramatically since you joined them, but your role there can be filled—less effectively, but filled—and I _need_ you to take over the Detention Unit, Kisuke. You’ll receive a full promotion to Corps Commander, a new housing assignment…”

“In the Maggot’s Nest,” he shot back at her, “with the prisoners.”

Yoruichi nodded, “Well, yes, but it’s twice the size of your current assignment and you’ll have your own entrance and exit that you can ward yourself so no one else can come and go. Hell, Kisuke, I’ll have them give you a couple of the cells so you can set up a new lab. I know you’ve been making do with the basement over at Patrol, this would triple your research area.”

He listened as she sweetened the bribe heavily, but she still hadn’t told him why. So, he watched and waited. He didn’t have to wait long.

“There’s been a radical uptick in the number of ‘dangerous Shinigami’ being sentenced to the Nest. More than fifteen in the last ten years.” She raised an eyebrow when he didn’t respond. “Fifteen, Kisuke. That’s more than the last thirty years together.”

Kisuke ambled towards her chair and stood looking down at her. “What happened to Danzoumaru?”

Seventh seat of the Second, Danzoumaru had been installed as an interim guard of the Nest because of his hand-to-hand proficiency, just as his brother had been raised to the position of Gate Keeper for Seireitei.

“Nothing has happened to him, other than the fact that he is currently wooing the daughter of one of the water merchants in Hokutan. A decided step up in the world for him—he was born in the East in Sabitsura. It seems… convenient.”

Kisuke nodded. Things like that were always suspect. “And how will you persuade the Giant to leave his post?”

Yoruichi’s jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed. “It will not be an issue. Trust me.”

He looked at the woman and didn’t doubt it.

“I need you to kill the rats, Kisuke,” she said finally, a vicious tone underlying her words. “Someone is using the Onmitsukido and I won’t stand for it. We do dirty work when it needs to be done, but we cannot allow corruption from within. Seireitei couldn’t survive it.”

Kisuke imagined the Shinigami imprisoned already simply on the word of someone in Central 46 and knew that he could be walking into an elaborate trap. He could walk in under his own power never to leave again—no one would look at his kill count, his callous disregard for societal roles, and argue that he wasn’t dangerous. He had to trust that Yoruichi hadn’t changed _that_ much, and that his deadly aptitude was still more useful to her than his imprisonment would be for someone else. 

She knew why he’d left; he knew why she wanted him back. They were, in a way, the same reason.

“I’ll need an additional budget for laboratory equipment.”

Yoruichi reached out for his hand, her gratitude clear. He imagined Mees’ lines on her nails.

No one escaped the effects of dealing in poison.

**Realgar**

“He’s not a child anymore, Kisuke.”

“No,” he agreed, not meeting Yoruichi’s eyes, “he’s not. He lost his childhood a long time ago, along with too many other things. I don’t intend to take any more from him.”

Ichigo was playing ping pong of all things, Shinji across the table from him, the competition raging so strongly Kisuke was surprised he couldn’t see reiatsu waves radiating off of them.

“You know how he feels. He might as well have _Kisuke 4 Ever_ tattooed on his forehead.” Yoruichi gave him a cat’s smile. “He asked me earlier about you and Shinji….”

Kisuke shot a horrified look at her. “You didn’t.”

She stretched back into the sofa lazily. “I told him the truth. A hundred years of banishment is a long time, Kisuke, and you and Shinji were well suited even before that. He isn’t blind. He—”

Kisuke turned on her, angry for the first time in he couldn’t remember how long. “Enough! You think this is some sort of game, Yoruichi? His heart isn’t a cat toy for you to play with.”

She wasn’t about to be pushed around like that. “Neither is it something for you to ignore, _Hiso_. Ichigo would give you everything he is if you’d let him. He loves you—all of you—and you’re a fool to deny it. To deny him. You think he’s sacrificed enough? Then give him a chance at what he wants more than anything. Give yourself a chance. You both deserve a _chance_ , Kisuke.”

“You’ve known me my whole life, Yoruichi,” Kisuke’s voice was low and hoarse. “You’ve watched me poison everything I ever touched. I killed the vermin, yes, but how many people suffered along with them? The Onmi used me, but the poison was always there. There’s no way to live with something like that and not pay the price. The best one can hope is that the poison will protect you from something worse.”

He shook his head once, a firm denial. “Ichigo has forgiven me for my machinations, but he still bears the scars. I hear him some nights when he stays in the guest room. He has terrible nightmares, Yoruichi. I hear him cry out and it is almost more than I can bear, knowing that I’ve done that to him. No… Having me around will only make things worse and he will figure that out soon enough. I won’t take advantage of him in the meantime, no matter how much I might want him.”

Yoruichi’s eyebrows shot up, and Kisuke scoffed at the look of surprise. “What? You expect me to deny it? Not even I am that much of a liar. Not anymore.”

“You don’t know how happy I am to hear that.” There was a smile in the voice, but the world still felt like it was falling out from under his feet. 

Yoruichi’s eyes were flitting between him and someone standing behind him and Kisuke’s snapped shut with a grimace. NO. No, no, no… this could not be happening. He turned and looked, praying to any God that might care to listen that it wasn't what he feared, but it was to no avail. There stood Ichigo, a little awkward, but steeled with the determination he faced every challenge with. His shaggy orange hair was sticking up at wild angles as if he’d run his hands through it, and Kisuke could see his pulse fluttering wildly at the base of his throat.

It probably wasn’t from the ping-pong.

“Ah, Kurosaki-kun!” He forced a gormless smile. “I see you finished your match. I’m afraid I missed the outcome.”

Ichigo watched him carefully, his eyes glittering in the lamplight, the tiny golden flecks in them making the brown shine. “Shinji has already demanded a rematch, but I told him it would have to wait.”

Kisuke pulled his white lotus fan from a pocket and snapped it open, thankful for a little cooling breeze on his heated cheeks. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been flustered enough to blush, but then Ichigo always managed to affect him in ways he thought were long beyond him.

“Oh, but you should strike while the iron is hot! You don’t want to miss an opportunity to—”

The redhead tilted his head slowly, eyes fixed on him like a lion at a watering hole. “You’re right. I would hate to miss this opportunity.”

Kisuke’s façade crumbled. There was no avoiding it any longer so he did the only thing he could. He took a deep breath.

“It’s a lovely evening out,” he got to his feet, making sure not to crowd the smaller man, “perhaps we could step outside and enjoy it?”

Ichigo nodded, following him away from the chattering crowd. “I’d like that.”

**Paris Green**

They left the warehouse and walked down the quiet street, Hachi’s protections extending enough to hide them from the living world.

“Why did Yoruichi call you _Hiso_?”

It wasn’t the question he expected, but Kisuke figured it was as good a place to start as any. “When a new agent is assigned to the Patrol Corps of the Onmitsukidō, they’re required to choose a code name by which they will be referred to in any correspondence or paperwork. Back when I started, I chose Hiso.”

Ichigo stopped and looked at him. “You _chose_ that?”

He nodded. “It seemed… appropriate at the time. Still does, honestly.”

That earned him a glare. “You’re not a poison, Kisuke.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps not literally, but in all the ways that matter I am. I’ve killed people. Destroyed relationships. Destabilized groups. Forced people into action and forced them into inaction. Destruction was my bread and butter, and I was very, very good at it. I was even dangerous to the people I cared about. Yoruichi. Shinji.” He paused. “You.”

He leaned back against a railing and looked up at the starry sky. “It didn’t matter who it was. Having me around hurt them and made them targets—whether for Central 46 or Aizen or someone else—and I couldn’t stop it.”

Ichigo opened his mouth but Kisuke cut him off. “That wasn’t the worst, though. The worst part was when I accepted that part of myself, when I embraced it and used it knowing that people were going to be hurt. All in the name of the mission, or the greater good.”

He removed his hat and pushed a hand raggedly through his hair. “I’m tired of the collateral damage, Kurosaki-kun. I can’t accept that possibility anymore.”

Ichigo stepped up beside him and leaned against the rail as well. “I don’t blame you.”

Kisuke’s shoulders sagged a little. “I’m glad you understand. That’s why I don’t think that we—”

“No,” Ichigo interrupted, shaking his head, “that’s not what I mean. I mean _I don’t_ _blame you_. For any of it.”

He searched Kisuke’s face for some sign of understanding but got nothing. He tried a different tack.

“Maybe Hiso wasn't so far off. Arsenic _is_ a strange thing when you take it as a whole. I mean, look at you… you’ve got the whole Paris Green thing down.” He waved a hand to indicate Kisuke’s emerald outfit with a twisted smile. “And there’s truth there under the irony—it was a deadly thing, like you. Used to kill rats and strangling weeds, but it was also beautiful. It was embraced by artists far and wide. Then, it saved thousands when used to prevent mosquitoes from spreading malaria. And it’s used in hospitals today to treat leukemia. And then…”

Kisuke caught himself holding his breath, listening to Ichigo defend that part of him that he felt had no defense. “And then?”

“Well,” Ichigo said, turning and loosely corralling Kisuke between his body and the railing, “then there’s the part that is pure magic. The part that starts out as little more than dust but with the right circumstances… it makes beautiful fireworks. Blues and golds and the brightest whites…”

He leaned in and ever so gently pressed his lips to Kisuke’s. “That’s what I see every time I look at you. Something so complex, so dangerous and so beautiful,” he touched their lips together again, “it takes my breath away.”

“But I,” Kisuke started, the denial on the tip of his tongue, but Ichigo wasn’t listening.

“There’s no _but_ , Kisuke. I’m a dangerous man myself. I see the fear in Orihime’s eyes when she remembers my Hollow. I dream of the blood and death I brought about. If you say there is no salvaging your soul, then what hope is there for me?”

Kisuke jerked at that, “Never! You saved us—saved _all_ of us.”

An auburn eyebrow lifted. “And who trained me? Fought alongside me?” He kissed Kisuke again, lips soft but insistent. “Who showed me the way back from the edge? Gave me a safe place to fall apart, and then made sure I had the tools to put myself back together?”

It was dizzying. It was everything Kisuke had ever wanted to hear, but never believed of himself. Ichigo, though… Ichigo didn’t lie. Ichigo was a _terrible_ liar. He shook his head, unable to answer.

“Well it sure as hell wasn’t Isshin, so, stop punishing yourself for being good at what you were trained to do. Competence is not a sin. As a matter of fact,” he nipped at Kisuke’s lower lip, “it’s more than a little sexy.”

The twinge of sharp teeth cut through the haze in Kisuke's head and set his heart racing. He was tired of denying himself, denying Ichigo. Maybe Yoruichi was right and it was time to give this a chance. He had nothing to lose, and so very much to gain.

He wrapped an arm around Ichigo’s waist and flipped them to where the younger man was pressed against the rail, and he leaned forward until he could feel their breath mingling.

“What was it,” he whispered, the tip of his tongue teasing the edge of Ichigo’s lower lip, “that you said about fireworks?”

His lips pressed against Ichigo’s and his tongue slid neatly between them, his tongue skirting along the edge of those sharp teeth before dipping further in, each movement an invitation for Ichigo to respond.

They stood like that, kissing as if there was nothing else in the world that mattered, until they had to break and catch their breath. Ichigo looked up at him, brown eyes liquid and luminous, and all Kisuke could think was that he wanted to see that look every day for the rest of time.

“ _That’s_ what I meant.” Ichigo rested his forehead against Kisuke’s cheek and smiled softly. “Fireworks. Every time.”


End file.
